


One and the Same

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-13 17:22:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10518345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: Shuu makes that I’m-doing-this-as-your-boyfriend-and-not-your-captain sound, and Tatsuya leans into him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> usc roadtrip nijihimu (thx for the prompt val!)
> 
> in this fic's universe, shuu started college a year before tatsuya, so he's a senior & tatsuya's a junior. also both of them are more flexible in terms of what position they play 
> 
> happy nijihimu day everyone!

Corralling the freshmen is like herding cats at the start of the season; there’s only five but they’re all wandering off like they don’t realize boarding’s in less than ten minutes—Tatsuya’s been trying to bring them all back for five or ten minutes already and nearly every time he gets one he’ll lose another to some distraction or other. At least the coaches are trying to keep everyone in one place now. The upperclassmen have barely left the area; the kids who are already there are probably getting the scare talk about the plane leaving them behind but there’s just a couple who are missing still.

“Hey.”

Shuu touches his hand; he’s got the last two freshmen trailing behind him like ducklings, both of them with Wendy’s bags stuffed in their fists.

“We good?”

“Yeah,” says Tatsuya. “That’s the last two.”

“Thanks for doing this,” says Shuu.

The freshmen, sensing their dismissal, hurry over to join the rest of the team. Tatsuya tugs on the cord of Shuu’s hoodie; Shuu swats his hand away.

“The first trip’s always the hardest,” Tatsuya says.

“Don’t I know it,” says Shuu.

At least they’re flying out on a Thursday night; it’s not as bad as it could be in that regard (not that it helps any with Shuu’s fear of flying, especially since he hasn’t done it since last year’s tournament and it’s always harder to get used to it again).

“Got you a burger,” says Shuu. “Extra pickles.”

If they weren’t in the middle of the airport Tatsuya would kiss him, and even now he’s kind of considering it, but he ends up just taking the greasy bag and knocking his knee against Shuu’s.

“Thanks, Captain.”

Shuu makes that I’m-doing-this-as-your-boyfriend-and-not-your-captain sound, and Tatsuya leans into him. From over by the gate, one of the coaches jerks her head and Tatsuya hoists his bag up onto his shoulder.

“Come on.”

Shuu trails behind him; they’re the last two on the plane. It’s a little loud, what with the excitable freshmen (someone’s already got their playlist on speaker) and even the older players who haven’t done this in months. One of the trainers yells at them to turn it down and Shuu pulls out his fleece blanket, draping it over their laps. Tatsuya reaches for his hand under the blanket, locking their fingers together. Behind them, everyone settles in; the flight attendant reminds them about safety and the coaches tell them to get some sleep even though it’s a short flight. The cabin lights flicker off, and Shuu pushes his headphones onto his ears.

“Did you take your Nyquil?” Tatsuya says.

“Yeah,” says Shuu, yawning as if to illustrate how effective it already is (and maybe, if everything goes well, he’ll be asleep before he can even turn his music on). Shuu shifts until he’s leaning against Tatsuya’s shoulder and closes his eyes. His hand is warm in Tatsuya’s. The plane starts down the runway and Shuu’s grip tightens.

“You’re good,” says Tatsuya, squeezing Shuu’s hand back.

Shuu’s breathing is slow and deliberate; Tatsuya squeezes his hand again. The plane speeds up; Shuu squeezes harder and Tatsuya turns his head to brush his lips against Shuu’s forehead. His grip slackens momentarily, and then the plane lifts off the ground and he’s squeezing Tatsuya’s hand again, eyes shut tightly.

It’s a few minutes before Shuu’s grip lets up and he opens his eyes again; his breathing is less measured and his headphones are slipping off of his ears.

“Hey,” says Tatsuya. “Everything okay?”

Shuu nods and yawns. “More or less.”

“Sleepy?”

Shuu nods again; he’s got that look on his face like he’s trying not to think about how far up they’re getting and how far back down it would be if they fell. Tatsuya nudges Shuu’s ankle with his foot.

“We’ll be at the hotel soon, hmm?”

“Yeah,” says Shuu, exhaling. “Yeah.”

He smiles, weak but with meaning behind it; he’s not thinking about landing or the two hours in the air before that, just what comes after. Tatsuya smiles back at him.

“Rest up.”

Shuu nods and flips the headphones back onto his ear. He doesn’t bother turning on his music, just settles in against Tatsuya again, still holding his hand, and Tatsuya doesn’t have the heart to let go.

* * *

Shuu’s still tired in the morning, enough to grab Tatsuya’s hoodie off the floor and put it on without looking. Seeing Shuu with his own name written across his back always does something to the most possessive part of Tatsuya, and this is no exception; maybe it’s worse because it’s so early in the day and those are definitely his shorts (bought a size too big in the name of fashion) Shuu is wearing.

“What?” says Shuu, turning back to look at him. “You coming to breakfast?”

“Yeah,” says Tatsuya, grabbing Shuu’s hoodie for himself and popping it over his head.

Getting a bunch of college students up before ten in the morning, even with the promise of food and coffee, is always a mixed result at best. The few morning people are absurdly chipper and most of the rest of them are catatonic, staring into space while their cereal turns to mush or failing to steal chocolate croissants when the coaches aren’t looking. Tatsuya’s in-between, pretending to read one of the free newspapers but letting the words go into his mind and disappear while he waits for the coffee to kick in.

“Hey.”

Tatsuya looks up. Bailey, their center a year below him, plunks down his plate at Tatsuya and Shuu’s table, yogurt and breakfast sausage and a bagel that looks barely dining-hall quality.

“Hey,” says Tatsuya.

“You know you’re wearing Niji’s hoodie again,” Bailey says.

“He stole mine first,” says Tatsuya, keeping his words light.

Shuu appears not to have heard, staring into his mug of coffee with a blank look, like he’d walked into class halfway through the lecture and now has no clue what the professor’s referring to.

“Earth to Shuu?” says Tatsuya.

“Huh?”

Shuu almost knocks over his coffee, head jerking up to look at Tatsuya (and it’s so cute that maybe, Tatsuya thinks, there’s some kind of benefit to forcing everyone to get up so early). Bailey stifles a laugh, and Shuu glares at him halfheartedly.

“You’re wearing my hoodie.”

“Oh,” says Shuu. “Yeah.”

He yawns and pulls the sleeves over his hands (Tatsuya’s long since given up on ever having cuffs that aren’t overstretched), and then takes a sip of coffee, making a face as it hits his tongue.

“You’re wearing mine?”

“Yeah,” says Tatsuya. “Looks better on me.”

Shuu looks at him for a second, finally seeming a little more awake—he’s giving Tatsuya that look, too, the one he uses when they’re alone or when he wants to be, like he wants to grab Tatsuya’s hand and keep going and escalate this, like they should just go back to their room right about now and do all the things they weren’t awake enough for last night. All of the residual drowsiness is draining from Tatsuya’s system like his body’s a sieve and that feeling is water; he’d very much like to take that course of action.

“Yeah,” says Shuu, finally. “It does.”

Bailey coughs. “What.”

Tatsuya breaks eye contact and goes back to his newspaper; in his peripheral vision he can see Bailey shrugging and returning to his food and Shuu drinking more of his coffee. The article he’s been reading is apparently about trade agreements; he skims the second paragraph again, moving his arm over so it’s under the light and he can see better. And if it happens to be resting close enough to Shuuzou’s on the table that he can feel the heat from Shuuzou’s skin, well, that’s just a lucky coincidence.

* * *

Washington’s not supposed to be a good team this year, which is probably why the game hurts so badly. They can think up whatever bullshit excuses for their shaky play. Too early in the season to know where everyone fits, too unused to road trips, freshmen getting acclimated, none of it’s relevant to the very real fact that they’re being outplayed. They’re too slow to draw the fouls, to get the prime shots while there’s still space to make them; the plays are running rough at the edges because they’re all hesitating on who to pass the ball to, where to go, and Washington’s taking full advantage. Even Tatsuya’s team lead in points doesn’t dull the edge; he’s at the one tonight and he’s trying to put forth a pass-heavy offense that’s just not working. Maybe the problem is with him; maybe it’s his lack of whatever quality makes people want to follow him tonight; he’s not well-rested enough, hasn’t put the kids enough at ease.

By the last five minutes it’s garbage time, and Tatsuya’s almost glad to be out of there, fiddling with the towel around his neck and trying not to look at the scoreboard, trying to swallow his disappointment and project something like calm.

“Hey,” says Shuu, sitting down next to him and dropping an arm around his shoulders.

Tatsuya looks at him; Shuu’s looking out onto the court; one of the freshmen looks like he’s about to steal the ball but moves to slow and misses, and then he’s late on the jump and doesn’t make the block.

“We’ll make it back,” says Shuu, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

Tatsuya bites back a reply, that he could have done something differently, should have; it doesn’t matter now because he hadn’t (well, not exactly doesn’t matter, but only matters in terms of not making the same mistakes next time and coming at the game with better preparation and a more solid trust in his teammates despite a shitty game like this).

The thought that they won’t make this game back, that they’re going to want that extra win at the end of the season when they get a shitty seed or miss the tournament altogether, persists in Tatsuya’s mind; he tries to block it out by closing his eyes and leaning his head against the bus window but it doesn’t go.

He’s not ready to sleep when they get back; the agitation is pushing up under his skin and he sits on the edge of the bed, knuckles white against the white sheets, while Shuu brushes his teeth. He’s studying the hideous patterns in the wall-to-wall carpeting when Shuu comes out, wiping off his face with a towel.

Instead of crawling into bed like he looks like he’s ready to (and one of them should get some rest), he sits down on the edge of the other bed and looks at Tatsuya, waiting for him to raise his head. It works, too; it’s only a few seconds before it starts to feel drawn-out and Tatsuya looks back at him.

“I fucked up,” says Tatsuya.

It feels a little bit worse to admit it, to say it out loud to Shuu alone.

“Everyone fucked up,” says Shuu. “Everyone has bad nights, including you, and we should be able to cover for you as a team.”

Tatsuya digs his toe into the carpeting but doesn’t lower his gaze. “I should be able to cover for them.”

It’s true; if he’s the one running the plays the majority of the responsibility falls on his shoulders. He’s the one who should know better where to pass the ball, where to position himself, when to shoot and when to wait.

“You shouldn’t have to,” says Shuu. “It’s okay that you didn’t tonight; it’s early and we probably wouldn’t have won. You’ll do better tomorrow.”

He’s not just saying it because he thinks it’ll make Tatsuya feel better (they’re so far beyond that point anyway); he’s saying it because he believes it. Tatsuya breathes in; this isn’t a weighty expectation that he’s going to fail to measure up to. It’s an expression of confidence. It’s a positive thing, and it’s not really quantifiable enough to measure against in the first place (and still, Tatsuya wants to ask how Shuu can be so sure he hasn’t hit a cold streak where nothing’s going to work properly for weeks).

“I know,” says Shuu.

He reaches across for Tatsuya’s hand and Tatsuya lets him take it, slotting his fingers between Shuu’s. Shuu’s still giving him that serious-captain look, like he’s waiting to see some sort of assent in Tatsuya’s face, but this uncertainty is the best Tatsuya can do for now. It’s apparently acceptable; Shuu’s expression softens and he gets up, pulling Tatsuya to his feet and into a hug.

“Sleep on it,” he says.

And, right now, Tatsuya feels like he can.

* * *

They spend most of Saturday morning catching up on homework, posting their required-for-participation-points observations on class message boards and flipping through PDFs of textbooks to jot down notes. Tatsuya’s done before Shuu; he reads the last chapter in his Spanish textbook over again and waits, glancing at Shuu staring at his math problems. He finishes again and closes his laptop, placing it on the bedside table and rolling over to plant his face in the pillow.

He listens to the scratch of Shuu’s pencil on paper, thumping coming from the room above them, the hum of the thermostat until it switches off. Then, a few seconds later, he hears Shuu sigh and a rustle of papers as he moves his worksheet to the side, the creak of the bed as he shifts. Tatsuya rolls over to look up at him; Shuu’s already looking down into his face.

“Finished?” says Tatsuya.

“Yeah,” says Shuu.

He flops down next to Tatsuya and rolls over, bumping into him deliberately and grinning.

“So,” says Shuu.

“So,” says Tatsuya, but his mouth is already almost up against Shuu’s.

Shuu’s hands are warm, sliding up under his shirt; the rest of him’s warm, too, pleasantly so under Tatsuya’s fingers. Tatsuya pulls the covers up around them anyway, cocooning them and pulling Shuu closer against him, tangling their feet and pressing his body flush against Shuu’s until Shuu moans into his neck.

“You like it?” says Tatsuya.

“Yes,” says Shuu, making a small sort of whine in the back of his throat when Tatsuya moves back a little. “Please.”

Tatsuya kisses Shuu’s jaw and grinds his hips against Shuu’s; he moves his lips down against Shuu’s throat and feels the vibrations of the sounds Shuu’s making. He almost jerks his head back when Shuu’s fingers slide under the waist of his jeans.

“You’re wearing a belt,” Shuu says, in utter disappointment,

“You saw me put it on,” says Tatsuya.

“Yeah, well,” says Shuu.

“Need help?” says Tatsuya.

“Shut up,” says Shuu. “But it would be nice.”

Tatsuya laughs and flicks the belt undone, letting Shuu handle the fastenings on his pants and nipping him right above the collarbone, not hard enough to leave a mark, as much as he’d like to (they do have practice and another game today).

* * *

Practice goes better than the game had; their passes are crisper and their shots more confident; they want to make it work and they want last night to be a fluke. It’s easier to shake the doubts from his mind like an Etch-a-Sketch wiped clean and get into things, snap the passes and dribble up and down like the weight’s melted from his shoulders. And the more Tatsuya buys into it, the easier it gets.

The game will be different; they’ll be against themselves and their own weaknesses and a Washington State team on their home turf coming off a solid win, but there’s nothing like a challenge to get Tatsuya more prepared. After warmups, Shuu claps him on the shoulder again, sharp and decisive in a way that says “I’m your captain and I believe in you” but also “I’m your boyfriend so stop giving yourself shit”, a hybrid touch he’s absolutely perfected in the past two-plus years.

It works, though. Bailey wins the tipoff and passes it out to Tatsuya; he drives the ball in and passes it back out to their shooting guard who’s already almost in the air to hit the jumper. Two points isn’t a big lead, but it’s not a lead they ever relinquish, moving up and down the hardwood and defending their side, passing quick and sharp, sharper than they’d been in practice that morning, until they hit their shots or go after the rebounds. It feels good, better than usual, like getting used to a familiar groove after being so used to the good feelings they hadn’t noticed they were there anymore. It’s a decisive win, but not an easy one by any stretch.

The plane ride back is more subdued; two games in two days this early is enough to knock most of the team out and leave the hum of the engine the loudest sound (but for Shuu maybe that’s a bad thing). It’s long-dark outside the window when they take off, and then the cabin lights go dim. There’s still enough light to see Shuu’s face, set and resolute, and there’s enough quiet for them to speak in low voices and hear each other, to distract Shuu enough and drown out the bad thoughts in his mind.

The conversation dies and Shuu yawns, leaning his head on Tatsuya’s shoulder again. He knots his fingers more tightly in Tatsuya’s and stretches his legs out into the aisle, and Tatsuya watches him doze off. They’re both still in an awkward position and they’ll end up stiff tomorrow if they stay this way, but fuck it. Tomorrow’s Sunday and Shuu’s managed to fall asleep on a plane without chemical assistance and there’s only an hour and change left in this flight. Tatsuya closes his eyes and leans back, and he falls asleep listening to Shuu’s breathing.  


End file.
